


Your Ghost

by punkrockgaia



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Sadness, parental abandonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:59:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockgaia/pseuds/punkrockgaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil muses on a sleepless night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Ghost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlzilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlzilla/gifts).



> Thanks to the wonderful Girlzilla for the prompt and the first line!

I can't sleep. And when I do, I'm plagued with visions. 

Tonight it's both; a 3D surround-sound nightmare of robots and fire that segues flawlessly into solid insomnia. I try to go back to sleep, but it's no use. I'm up for the duration, now. I open my eyes, and everything swings and wiggles. I should know better. I'm getting lazy.

I grit my teeth and press my forehead to Carlos' warm, soft back until the nausea subsides. He's wonderfully understanding, but I think even his boundless patience would be tested were he to awaken to his boyfriend whoopsing dinner all over the bed. Carlos is azure and gold and the smell of lavender chewing-gum. I breathe deeply, then feel alongside him to the nightstand, until I can grab my glasses. At my apartment, this is all so easy. I know where my glasses are, I know where everything rests. I have to adjust, now.

Masters of us all, I've never been happier to be inconvenienced. 

I lay there and enjoy the alien sensation of contentment, then hook the stems of my specs over my ears. I try to see with just my normal eyes. I hold up my hands in front of my face. Yup, there they are. I can see them, for sure, but that's about it. I concentrate on inhaling and exhaling, I settle. Why do I even test it? I turn on my good eye. Everything is clear, except for the faintest peripheral flutter. Something's trying to come through.

I can't help but think of you on nights like this. 

As much as I don't remember, some of it stays with me. I remember you. I remember you never slept, either. I remember screaming, my head feeling like it was going to split open. You held me, you gave me a damp washcloth across my forehead. You would guide my hand toward the glass of water, help me to hold on to it. I'd tell you about what I'd seen and you understood.

Your eyes were like mine. Did you see like I do?

I'm not delusional -- not completely, anyway. I know that our little family was unconventional, and that you weren't exactly a mom out of a sitcom, but you did your best. Things weren't easy for you.

I know that for as difficult and distracting as my visions can be, yours were so much worse. Mine are... mundane, for the most part. Oh, look, Old Woman Josie is making chicken a la king for dinner again. Teddy Williams is sanitizing the bowling shoes. Larry Leroy is watching The Bachelorette. Earth-shaking stuff. It's only once in a while that I get a good old-fashioned doom prophecy, though there have been a few more since Strex came to Night Vale... It's wearing me down, frankly.

But hey, this isn't about me.

Like I was saying, you did your best, and I'm sorry that I wasn't better. I'm sorry that I made you hide from me. I'm sorry I made you leave. I'm sorry.

I keep getting sidetracked. Where was I? Oh, yeah, your visions. Worse than mine. Much worse. I remember how you'd look when you got one; you'd go pale -- so pale. And your eyes would squeeze shut and you'd mutter under your breath in languages I didn't know. And it would pass, and you'd know something new and horrible. And you'd be changed a little bit each time.

I still keep the mirrors covered, Mom. I didn't forget.

I've tried to contact you, did you know that? I open myself up as wide as I can go, and I reach for you. Once in a while, I think I can feel something brush past me, a moth's wing in a darkened room, but it's always fleeting. I don't even know if it's you, to be honest. It's faint and silver and faded. A breath. Mist. A moonbeam.

Carlos is stirring now. He rolls over and puts his arm across my chest. It makes it a little hard to breathe, but I'll take it. He sees I'm awake and kisses me gently.

"Penny for your thoughts," he murmurs.

I shake my head. "Not worth it. Just thinking about ghosts."

"Oh, Ceese, ghosts aren't real." He chuckles softly and within moments is back asleep.

If only you knew, my love, if only you knew.


End file.
